Kidnapped
by venenatus.venustas
Summary: **WARNING** SLASH - Someone has kidnapped Draco, driving Harry frantic with worry and putting Ron and Hermione in charge of finding and bringin Draco back to him.


_Title:_ Kidnapped

_Chapter 1: _Kidnapped

_Pairing: _Harry/Draco

_Rating:_ R for slash themes 

****WARNING**: THIS STORY CONTAINS SLASH THEMES – WHICH MEANS HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN TWO MALE CHARACTERS. YOU ARE ADVISED TO LEAVE IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THIS.**

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed in this story do not belong to me, but to the Harry Potter series by JK Rowling. This is all FICTION; none of it is true. No profit was made from this story. I bear no responsibility for anything you may claim from this story, you have been warned.

**LAST WARNING. SLASH. HOMOSEXUALITY. LEAVE IF YOU DON'T LIKE. **

**Plagiarism is a crime. But I'm sure you know that already.**

Notes: Yes. Exam tomorrow – Biology Unit 4. Absolutely _have_ to get an A, so, of course, I'm here writing another story. I think this one will be multi-chaptered, it's too fun (for me) to squish into one part, however long it may be. Hope you enjoy!

***

Draco whined softly, voice sounding pitiful even to his own ears.

He tugged uselessly at the chains binding him to the wall, again cursing himself for being so goddamned fucking vulnerable just when he needed _not_ to be. Where did all his Auror training go? Fucking out the window, that's where. Three years after the fucking war, and all his fucking instincts dulled to nothing, now that he took over the Malfoy family business. 

Fucking _hell._

It didn't look like he was going to be let out anytime soon – he knew that the instant that the first two tiny bowls of rice and water were conjured into his cell. He remembered staring at them, eyes widening, heart accelerating, and wondering why anybody wanted anything to do with him. 

Fuck. 

He wanted to bang his head against the wall and scream – but he also suspected that his kidnapper wanted a reaction of that sort, and so Draco was determined to be the cool, calm Malfoy that everyone knew him to be. 

He sighed. How long had he been in here? Too long. He counted seven meals already – and if they (he, she, it, what-the-fuck-ever) fed him three times a day, he would have finished lunch of his third day already. He remembered being here after lunch, so. Yes. If they fed him twice a day, he would have finished dinner of his third day.

Draco sighed again. At least he was allowed to sit. The chains were relatively long, but they were incredibly thick and were bolted to the stone walls. There was no fucking chance in hell that any human would be able to break free of them. 

Why was he here? Why did they want him? What did they want him for? What did they want to do to him? Did they just plan to keep him here forever? There was no one, nothing, no sign that they kept him for a ransom or some other demand. Nothing was done to prove that he was still alive and therefore _someone_ should hand over the galleons for his freedom, so what the _fuck_ was he doing here?

He suspected he was going crazy. 

At least he had plenty of practice being locked into a dark, suffocating, claustrophobic room, with chains on, for days, weeks, and one time, months. 

_Why was he here?_

Fuck, and what about Harry? He was probably frantic with worry, pissed off as hell, and who knows what the Hero Of The Fucking Universe Who Killed The Biggest Fucker Ever would do? He was more powerful than anyone…well, maybe except Dumbledore, but his _innate_ magic was definitely the strongest seen ever. 

Fuck. Draco wanted to scream, or slam a fist down onto the floor, but instead took a deep breath and released it shakily. 

He was going _insane_, that he was. 

He could do this. Yes, he could. _Remember the time you were locked up for the entire summer vacation? You did it then. You made it through then. And then was definitely worse than now. Remember? Remember? Remember, and live through this one. Because you can._

_Because you must_. 

***

Harry was slumped over his kitchen table, head in his hands. Why would anyone do this to Draco? _How_ could anyone do this to Draco? To…to _his_ Draco? 

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to ease the ache that came before tears. 

He had received a note that morning. After three fucking days, he receives a fucking _note_.

_You'll never see him again._

Hermione and Ron were on their way to his house right now – Harry had wards stronger than all of Hogwarts', and the impenetrable security of his home contributed to the frustration at having Draco taken from him. He wouldn't let any of the Auror teams but his best friends handle this case. It meant too much to him; there was no way he would let it fall into hands other than those he trusted his life with. 

There was a buzz, and Harry stared briefly at the little monitor in the wall before pressing a button, allowing entrance for Hermione and Ron. Seconds later, he was opening the door for them, and Hermione instantly ushered the three of them back into the kitchen before scuttling around to make tea. 

Ron sat opposite Harry and folded his hands on the table. "Harry, mate," he said. "I need you to tell me everything, alright? Just…everything. Anything. Because sometimes the smallest thing will help solve the case."

And so Harry started his little monologue. "Three days ago. Tuesday. Draco went to his office in London – was driven there by his driver, Bill Kane, used to be the Malfoy family chauffeur and Draco felt bad when Narcissa sacked him – the guy's seventy five and has five children, all in school. Somehow managed to pull a woman half his age, literally. Anyway, Draco gets driven to his office, and Bill says he watched Draco enter the building. His secretary and assistants meet him at the entrance – they fill him in on his schedule and stuff as they make their way to his office. Meetings from eight thirty till lunch, non-stop, one after the other. I think he had three, maybe even squeezed in a fourth. I don't remember who with, but if you want to know, ask his secretary, Jane McGreen, she's been with him forever and writes down every little detail."

Harry stopped, and looked up in thanks as Hermione set down a steaming cup of tea before him as she sat down next to Ron. He sighed, and continued with his story. "He went out by himself for lunch. He likes to go to this little café a couple blocks from his office – Rufiziano, it's called. And then. That was it."

Ron frowned slightly and nodded.

  
Harry's voice shook the slightest bit. "He never went back to the office after lunch. Jane called me at two in the afternoon – Draco usually takes his lunch from twelve to one thirty, including the time it takes for him to walk back and forth. You know how anal he is about being punctual – thirty seconds is forever to him, never mind thirty minutes."

Hermione nodded, too, and tilted her head to the side. "Can you think of anyone who would want to kidnap him?"

"No. I…there…I got a note this morning. It was in the mailbox." He slid the folded piece of parchment across the table, and Hermione opened it, Ron leaning over to read the single sentence scrawled in the middle.

Hermione's expression darkened, and Ron's frown deepened. 

"It's not for money," Harry said desperately. "I can't think why anyone would want him other than to ransom him or me for money!" His voice climbed pitch with each syllable, barely suppressed hysteria apparent. 

"I think…" Hermione said slowly. "First of all. You're right. It's not for money. Someone wants him out of your life. Or you out of his life. You don't leave your house at all – except to Floo directly to Hogwarts or the Ministry – there's no way that anyone would be able to breathe the same air as you – much less get their hands on you – without you knowing and giving them permission. Draco, however, goes to his office. He has lunch by himself. He's in public by himself. They can touch him. So right now…"

"…there are two general motives," Ron continued. He held up his index finger. "One."

"They want to keep you away from him," Hermione said. "Or, two."

"They want to keep _him_ away from _you_." Ron gave him a searching look. "Harry, as much as you hate to admit it, you have fans. Some even on the obsessive side. You know you have stalkers, there are a million fucking groupies outside your gate twenty four hours a day, and there are still a helluva lot of people wanting you dead."

"And, as much as you hate to admit it, Draco has enemies. Like yours, they can be obsessive, stalker types. Except, unlike yours, they don't lurk around your gates wanting to catch a glimpse of you. They want him dead. Whether it's because of his status as Auror during the war, or because he's with you." Hermione began to frown, too.

Ron and Hermione shared a look, and Ron spoke again. "Uh, Harry, I think that the second option is more viable than the first."

Harry tugged on a stray strand of hair. "You mean, they took Draco away from me just for that? To keep him away from me?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I think Draco knows enough to protect himself from the dangers directed towards him because of who he is, but not so much when it comes to the dangers of being associated with you."

Harry sighed. "I don't get it."

"The thing is, Harry, that Draco has been in such close contact with the Dark Arts over the years, that he can sense the shirt in magic and can thus sniff them out, literally. It's his own method of protecting himself against Dark wizards that are _still_ out for his blood. However, the other group of people wanting a piece of him would probably be _your_ stalkers and all the people that are obsessed with you."

Slumping back into his seat, Harry covered his face with a hand. "It's all my fault, then," he said softly. "It's all my fault. I should have…I should have protected him better, I should have – should have done something _more_, I should have been more aggressive towards my fucking stalkers, I should have…I should have…" 

A lone tear slid slowly down his cheek, and Hermione reached across the table to pat his hand, which was still gripping the mug of tea. "We'll find him for you, Harry. You know we will."

"What if they kill him?" he whispered in return, lifting his head to stare at them with eyes luminous with tears.

Ron and Hermione were silent. 

"What if you'll never find him again because they fucking killed him?" he continued in his low voice. "What if they kill him?" he repeated. "_What if they kill him?_" He stood up suddenly, and began pacing around the kitchen. "I can't live without him," he said, words in a rush, disjointed and falling over each other in their haste to get out. "I can't live without him, I really can't. I know, it's only been, what, a month? But I know it, you know. I know it's real this time. I know it. I _feel_ it. I can't live without him. I just can't, I _can't_." 

They didn't know what to say. 

Harry stopped, and turned to them, crying for real now. "I'll die if you tell me he's gone. I'll fucking _die._"

***

He was _not_ going to snap, no he wasn't. He was _completely_ determined to pull through. So what if he was rambling nonsense to himself? It was all in his head anyway. He nodded. All in his head. This meant that everything was alright so far – no voices, only his own, no emotional outbursts, no nothing. 

He knew he was pissing his kidnapper off with his bland reaction to what happened. _Good_, he thought. _Be fucking pissed off. It's what I want anyway._ It was comforting to him, somehow, knowing that the kidnapper was probably enraged that Draco was so fucking passé about the whole thing. 

So Draco kept his cool. 

And besides, it was easy. _You had practice_, he kept telling himself. _You had so much fucking practice and you don't think you can handle this? This is nothing, Draco, nothing compared to before_. 

He was starting to feel hungry. Well, he had started to feel hungry about two meals ago, and how many meals has he had now? He forgot when his head began spinning and his stomach began to twist with hunger. A tiny shimmer in the room, and there were the same tiny bowls of rice and water. Fuck, they probably planned to starve him to death. Nothing like the good ol' starvation technique. Kind of like the Chinese water torture, where it ate away at you bit by bit. But it didn't drive you insane, because Draco knew that the kidnapper didn't want him insane because that would mean Draco's mind had escaped this fucking hell hole. No, starvation was the way to go. 

Still, he would never complain he was hungry, not for the life of him, and so ate the rice and drank the water without a murmur. Several minutes later, they disappeared. 

Draco curled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. 

He wanted home. 

To Be Continued!!!

P.S. Thank you SO MUCH to those who reviewed _Clear – Unmistakeably Clear, Part 2 Chapter 2_, and also my little short story _Snow_. Thank you so, so, SO much!! You don't know how much your reviews mean to me. Exam stress is really getting to me, and it's just so…I don't know the word…to read that someone enjoyed something you made. Another week to go and I'll be done. For now. 


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